Diamond Bay (15 page)

Kell turned his face up to the sun, feeling everything in him
loosen up and slow down.
Marilyn… it had been years since he'd even thought of her, an
illustration of how shallowly she had touched him.
The divorce hadn't elicited any response from him other than a
shrug; hell, she would have been crazy to have stayed with him after what
happened.

The attempt on his life had been clumsy, not well planned or well
executed at all. He and Marilyn had been out to dinner, one of the few times in
their married life that they had been out together socially, and never to one
of the ritzy in places that Marilyn loved so dearly. Kell had seen the sniper
as soon as they left the restaurant and acted immediately, shoving Marilyn down
and rolling for cover himself. His action had saved Marilyn's life, because she
had kept walking and ended up between Kell and the sniper, who had fired almost
simultaneously with Kell's shove, wounding Marilyn in the right arm.

That night had forever changed the way Marilyn viewed her husband,
and she hadn't liked the new view at all. She'd seen the cool way he had
tracked and cornered his assailant, seen the short, vicious fight that left the
other man unconscious on the ground, heard the biting authority in Kell's voice
as he gave orders to the men who arrived shortly and took over. One of those
men took her to a hospital, where she was treated and kept overnight, while
Kell spent the night piecing together how the sniper had learned where he would
be that evening. The answer, obviously, had been Marilyn. She saw no reason to
be secretive about her movements or the fact that she would be dining with her
husband that night, or where; she'd truly had no idea how dangerous and highly
classified her husband's job was, nor had she been interested in learning.

By the time Kell collected her at the hospital the next day their
marriage was over in every way except legally. The first words Marilyn had said
to him, very calmly, were that she wanted a divorce. She didn't know what it
was he did, didn't want to know, but she wasn't going to risk her own life
being married to him while he did it. It might have piqued her vanity a bit
when Kell agreed so easily, but he'd been doing some thinking during the night,
too, and had reached basically the same conclusion, though for different
reasons.

Kell didn't blame her for getting a divorce; it had been the wise
thing to do. The close call had shaken him, because it had illustrated how
easily he could be reached through the very person who was supposed to be
closest to him. It had been a mistake for him even to attempt to have a normal
private life, considering who he was and what he did. Other men could manage
it, but other men weren't Kell Sabin, whose particular talents put him on the
leading edge of danger. If there was any one man in intelligence whom other
agencies wanted to take out of commission, it was Kell Sabin. Because he was a
target, anyone close to him was automatically a target, too.

It had taught him a lesson. He had never again let anyone get
close enough to him that they could be used against him, or hurt in an effort
to get to him.
He
had chosen his life, because he was both a realist and a patriot, and he was
willing to pay whatever price he had to, but he was determined to never again
involve an innocent, a civilian, one
of the very people whose lives and
freedom he was sworn to protect.

He'd never been tempted to marry again, or even to take a
mistress. Sex was casual, never on a regular basis with the same woman, and he
always carefully limited the number of times he saw anyone in particular. It
had worked out well.

Until Rachel. She tempted him. Damn, how she tempted him! She was
nothing like Marilyn; she was comfortable and casual, where Marilyn had been
fastidious and chic. She knew – somehow, she
knew
– too much about his
way of life in general, while Marilyn hadn't realized even a fraction that much
about him in the years they were married.

But it simply wouldn't work. He couldn't allow it to work. He
watched Rachel as she worked in her small garden, content with her chores. Sex
with her would be hot and long, writhing on that bed with her, and she wouldn't
worry if he mussed her hair or smeared her makeup. To protect her, he had to
make certain that sex was all it ever was. When he walked out of her life it
would be for good, and for her own good. He owed her too much to risk any harm
coming to her.

She straightened from her bent position and stretched, reaching
her arms high in the air; the movement thrust her breasts upward against the
thin fabric of her shirt. Then she picked up her basket and picked her way
across the rows of vegetables toward him; Joe left his position at the end of
the row and followed her to find shade under the back steps. There was a smile
on Rachel's face as she approached Kell, her gray eyes warm and clear, her slim
body moving gracefully. He watched her approach, aware of her in every cell of
his body.
No, there was
no way he'd endanger her by staying any longer than was necessary; the
real danger was that he was so hungry for her that he might be tempted
to see her again, something he couldn't let happen.

The next few days were slow, hot
and peaceful.
Now that Kell was on the mend and
didn't require her constant attention Rachel resumed her normal work schedule;
she finished planning her course and began working on her manuscript again, as
well as tending the garden and doing all the other small chores that never
seemed to end. She got the requested hollowpoint bullets for Kell, and the .357
was never far from his hand. If they were inside he sometimes placed it on the
table in the bedroom, but usually he kept it stuck into his waistband at the
small of his back, instantly accessible.

Honey came to take the stitches out of his wounds and professed to
be amazed at how well he had healed.
"Your metabolic rate must be something else," she said
admiringly.
"Of course, I did a terrific job
on you. The muscle in your leg was a mess, but I did some repair work, and I
think you're going to come out of this without even a limp."

"You did a helluva job, doc," he drawled, smiling at
her.

"I know," Honey returned cheerfully. "You were just
plain lucky on your shoulder. You may lose some of your rotation ability, but
not much, I don't think. Take it easy on both the leg and shoulder for another
week or so, but you can start working the stiffness out if you're
careful."

He had already been working the
stiffness out; Rachel
had seen him exercising his
shoulder and arm carefully, as though testing the limits of the stitches.
He hadn't put any weight on either his leg or shoulder, but he had
been doing exercises to ease his movements, and as a result his limp was much
better, no worse than if he'd had a sprained ankle.

Honey hadn't even blinked when he removed the pistol from his
waistband and placed it on the table while he took off his khaki pants and blue
cotton shirt. Wearing only his briefs, he'd sat at the table and observed
expressionlessly while she removed the stitches and Rachel leaned over to
watch. Then he put his clothes back on and returned the heavy pistol to its
accustomed place at the small of his back.

"Stay for lunch," Rachel invited. "Tuna salad and
fresh tomatoes, light and cool."

Honey made it a practice never to refuse one of Rachel's
invitations. "Done. I've been craving a fresh tomato."

"Southerners serve tomatoes with almost everything,"
Kell observed.

"That's because almost everything tastes better with a
tomato," Honey defended. She was from Georgia, and passionately fond of
tomatoes.

"Love apples," Rachel said absently. "Tomatoes,
that is. Though I don't know why they were called that, since most people
thought they were poisonous because they're a member of the nightshade family,
like belladonna."

Honey chuckled. "Oh, ho! You've been reading up on old
poisons, haven't you? Is someone in one of your books going to kick the bucket
from an overdose of belladonna?"

"Of course not. I don't write whodunits." Not at all
perturbed by Honey's teasing, Rachel glanced at Kell as she set the table.
"You're not a Southerner, are you? You have a drawl, but it isn't
Southern."

"Most of it comes from spending a lot of time with a man from
Georgia. We were in Vietnam together. I was born in Nevada."

That was probably the limit of the personal information he would
give about himself, so Rachel didn't ask any more questions. They ate the
simple meal, with Kell sitting between the two women, and though he ate well as
always and kept up with the conversation, she noticed that he sat where he
could watch both the window and the door. It was habit with him; he did it at
every meal, even though he knew no one could approach the house without Joe
giving warning.

As Honey was leaving she smiled at Kell and held out her hand.
"If I don't see you again, goodbye."

He took her hand. "Thanks, doc. Goodbye." Rachel noticed
that he made no pretense about staying.

Honey eyed him consideringly. "I'm literally bursting with
questions, but I think I'm going to follow my own good advice and not ask them.
I don't want to know. But be careful, you hear?"

He gave his crooked half smile. "Sure thing."

She winked at him. "If anyone asks, I don't know a
thing."

"You're a smart woman, doc. After I'm gone Rachel can fill
you in on the details."

"Maybe. But maybe I'll just make up my own answers. That way
I can get as wild and romantic as I want but still play it safe."

Probably Honey's outlook
was
the best, Rachel thought after
she and Kell were alone. Honey allowed herself to be wild and romantic in her
fantasies, but in real life she opted for safety. Honey would never do anything
as risky as falling in love with a man like Kell Sabin.
She would clean the kitchen, just
as Rachel was doing, and forget about the
rest.
Rachel turned and found him watching
her in that steady, unnerving way of his. Her chin lifted. "What is
it?"

For answer he walked up to her and cupped her chin in his hand,
then bent and covered her mouth with his.
Surprise held Rachel motionless for a
moment; he hadn't kissed her after that first time, though she sometimes
thought there was a touch of possessiveness in the way he held her at night.
She hadn't betrayed the pleasure she felt in sleeping in his arms,
but there was no way she could hide the heavy surge of desire that made her
respond to his mouth, her lips parting at the pressure of his, her hands
sliding up the hard, warm wall of his chest. His tongue curled against hers,
and she made a sound deep in her throat, her breasts and loins tightening as if
he had touched them.

Slowly Kell moved forward, backing her up until she was jammed
against the cabinets. Rachel freed her mouth and gasped, "What brought
this on?"

His mouth moved down to the curve of her jaw and explored the soft
skin below her ear. "Must be all those love apples you've been feeding
me," he murmured. "Stop turning your head away. Kiss me. Open your
mouth."
She did, her
hands clenching his shirt, and he took her mouth in a long, deep, minddrugging
way that went on forever and had her standing on tiptoe to press against him.
His hands slid down to her buttocks and cupped them, lifting her
into even more intimate contact.

The kiss stripped away all pretense and left them clinging
together in open passion, hungry for each other, straining to get even closer.
Their passion had been building
for days, feeding on the memory of intimate touches between them that normally
would have come after the first questing kisses, but they had been thrown
together in circumstances
that had gotten the order mixed.
She had seen and touched his hard, beautiful body while caring for
him and soothing him. He had felt her in his hands and gotten used to the
particular sweet scent of her even before he'd known her name. He had slept
with her in his arms for four nights now, and their bodies had grown accustomed
to each other. Nature had circumvented all the natural barriers that people
threw up to protect their sense of privacy, forcing the two of them together in
a hothouse atmosphere forged by circumstance.

The force of what she was feeling frightened her a little, and
again she tore her mouth away from his, hiding her face in the warm curve of
his throat. She had to slow this down before she went out of control.
"You're a fast man," she gulped, trying to steady her voice.

He moved his hands from her buttocks to slide them up her back,
holding her tightly. His mouth nuzzled her ear, and his voice was warm and
dark. "Not as fast as I wanted to be."

Uncontrollable shivers were vibrating through her entire body, and
her nipples were so tight that they ached. He held her even more tightly,
crushing her breasts against his hard, muscle-layered body and rubbed his cheek
against the top of her head, but the tender caress didn't last long against his
hungry need for more. He dug his fingers into her hair and tilted her head
back, his mouth once again taking hers, his tongue moving in the rhythm of
making love.
Rachel's
entire body jolted when his other hand covered her breast, sliding inside her
blouse to cup her warmly in his paim so he could rasp his callused thumb over
her hardened nipple, simultaneously soothing the ache and creating a deeper
one.

"I want to be inside you," he murmured, lifting his head
to watch the way her nipple rolled under his thumb. "I've
been going crazy, wanting you. Will you let me have you
for the time we have left together?"

God, he was honest, and she had to swallow hard to keep from
crying out at the pain. Even now, with their bodies fevered with need, he
didn't make sweet promises he had no intention of keeping. He would be leaving;
the best they could have would be temporary. Still, it would be so simple if
she could just forget about the future and go with him now into her bedroom,
but his honesty reminded her that she had to think about the future and the day
when he would leave her.

Slowly she pushed against him, and he moved back, giving her the
space she needed. With a shaking hand she pushed her hair back from her face.
"It isn't something that's easy for me," she tried to explain, her
voice shaking just like her hand. "I've never had a lover… only my
husband."

His eyes were sharp, watchful, and he waited.

She made a helpless gesture. His honesty deserved her own.
"I… care about you."

"No," he said sharply, deliberately. "Don't let it
happen."

"Is it something I'm supposed to turn off, like a water
faucet?" Rachel faced him, her gaze level.

"Yes. This is sex, nothing else. Don't fool yourself into
thinking there can be anything more, because even if there were, there'd still
be no future in it."

"Oh, I know that." She gave a tight little laugh and
turned to look out the window over the sink. "When you walk out of here,
that's when it ends."

She wanted him to deny it, but again that brutal honesty destroyed
her hopes.

"That's it. That's the way it has to be."

It would be useless to argue with
him on that point; she
had known all along that he was
solitary, a lone wolf.
"It's that way for you,
but I don't have that sort of emotional control. I think I love you – oh, damn,
why try to hedge my bets?" Her voice was filled with helpless frustration.
"I started loving you the minute I dragged you out of the ocean! It
doesn't make sense, does it? But it won't stop just because you leave."

He watched her, accurately reading the tension in her slender
back, the tightness of her hands. What had it cost her to confess that? She was
the most direct woman he'd ever known, with no use for games or subterfuge. She
was the only woman in all these years that he regretted leaving; just the
thought of it twisted his guts, but he could handle that a lot easier than the
knowledge that keeping her with him would jeopardize her life. She was too fine
for him to carelessly endanger her for his own enjoyment.

He put his hands on her shoulders, kneading the tension from them.
"I won't pressure you," he murmured. "You have to do what's best
for you, but if you decide you want me, I'm here."

Decide she wanted him? She ached with wanting him! But he was
giving her the space to decide for herself, rather than seducing her into bed
as he knew he easily could; she had no illusions about her self-control where
he was concerned. She put her hand on his, and their fingers entwined.

There was a thump as Joe left the shade under the steps and tore
around the side of the house, and Kell's hand stiffened under hers, his head
snapping around. Rachel went still, then shook herself and moved swiftly to the
front door. She didn't have to tell him to stay out of sight; she knew that if
she looked around he would already be hidden from view, moving silently through
the house.

She opened the door and stepped
out onto the front porch, and only then did she remember that Kell had par
tially unbuttoned her blouse.
She rebuttoned it swiftly, looking around for whatever had set Joe
off.
Then she
heard the car approaching down the private road; it wouldn't be Honey, since
she had just left, and on the rare times Rafferty visited he rode his horse
over rather than driving.

The car that pulled to a stop in front of the house was a
pale-blue Ford, a government car. Joe was crouched facing it, snarling, his
ears back. "Steady, steady," Rachel murmured to him, trying to see
who was in the car, but the sun was glaring on the window and blocked her vision.
Then the car door opened and a tall man got out, but he remained in the open
door, looking at her over the top of the vehicle. Agent Ellis, his jacket off
and dark sunglasses shading his eyes.

"Oh, hello," Rachel called. "Nice to see you
again." The Southern ritual of greeting had its advantages, giving her
time to gather her thoughts. Why was he here again? Had Kell been seen when
he'd been outside? They had been careful, trusting Joe to warn them if anyone
was near, but someone with binoculars might have seen him.